


For Rosie...slash version

by DaveandKen_Archivist



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8190424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveandKen_Archivist/pseuds/DaveandKen_Archivist
Summary: Starsky sacrifices for Rosie Dobey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> by Jane.
> 
> Note from the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Dave & Ken's Diner](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Dave_%26_Ken%27s_Diner), which experienced a drop in traffic to low levels following the opening of the official Starsky & Hutch archive. Still wanting to preserve the archive, Open Doors began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the archivist using the e-mail address on [ Dave and Ken's Diner collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/daveandkensdiner/profile).

 

  
Starsky held Hutch’s shoulders, tightening his grip with each  
spasm of Hutch’s body. Loving his partner, hating his job,  
wanting to go home. Take a shower with Hutch, have some  
dinner, tuck each other in, and make love for hours. Wipe  
out the fucking crime scene that had Hutch puking in a gutter  
and ambulances and coroner wagons lined up on the street.

Hutch finished, sinking down until his butt rested on  
Starsky’s feet.

“Okay now, partner?” Starsky tilted the damp head up so  
Hutch would meet his eyes, knowing Hutch would say he  
was fine, knowing he could read those eyes and tell for  
himself if Hutch was lying to him. Hutch’s eyes were a  
“Reader’s Digest” condensed story, all of his emotions  
cramped into a small space--sadness, fear, confusion, and  
anger. Starsky stroked a finger along a cheekbone and  
watched sadness win out and love join in. Love he knew was  
for them, love they so needed when their job was as horrid  
as this day had been.

They survived the battle; the bad guy was in custody. One  
hell of a bad guy who got his perverse jollies killing and  
maiming blacks. Men, women, children, babies. Made no  
difference, as long as they were black. Duncan Oliver and  
his band of monsters tore up a neighborhood and wrenched  
apart families that bloody afternoon. Fought the cops with  
guns, and when that didn’t work and the cops had control of  
the scene, they fought with the filth of their taunts and  
threats. Starsky would have given almost anything for an  
hour alone with Oliver or any one of the bastard’s goons. He  
and the rest of Dobey’s men took their satisfaction watching  
their captain handcuff Oliver and read him his rights. Dobey  
never wavered through all the threats and names Oliver  
spewed. The arrest was textbook; Dobey at the scene by his  
own choice. The call from dispatch that more victims had  
been found--some dead, some of them children--had been  
put out as Dobey made his way home. No way he would not  
have responded.

“Starsk?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Take me home.”

Sirens cut off Starsky’s response. Sirens and the sounds of  
heavy engines and multiple tires moving quickly down the  
street. The ambulances on their way to a half dozen  
hospitals throughout Bay City and the closest cities to it. The  
coroner wagons had but one place to go--no need for sirens,  
no need to hurry. One place for five innocents and as many  
bad guys. Death knowing no difference. Starsky pulled  
Hutch to his feet, his arms holding the long body a few extra  
seconds, his breath warm on the back of Hutch’s neck.  
Promising home, promising a lot of things. _Let me take your  
pain, babe._

“Ready?” Starsky eased his grip, testing Hutch.

“Just get to the car so we can split.”

Hutch straightened his back and held his head high. Losing  
his dinner was not a standard for him. Then again, neither  
were horrifically mutilated bodies. Hutch had been the one to  
find the remains of the little girls. Partially dismembered,  
skinny torsos slashed to shreds, tiny pink barrettes, lace  
trimmed ankle socks. Too much to see, too much to bear.  
And way too many similarities to their captain’s daughter, the  
child he and Starsky were so fond of. Duncan’s final victims,  
snatched on their way home from the corner market,  
brutalized, strangled, cut, and left in a dumpster at the mouth  
of the alley just east of the market.

Starsky’s Torino was parked half a block down. Getting  
Hutch there under his own power took some doing, and they  
almost made it. Their captain’s voice loud in his demand that  
they wait up, quiet when he had them within touching  
distance.

“Are you all right, Hutchinson?”

“Fine, Captain.” Hutch gave a rueful smile. “Sorry about…”

Dobey didn’t let him finish. “Forget about that. It was hard for all of us to see those babies, those little girls…”Dobey turned away from his men the second his voice broke. _Police captains do not cry, Harold_. He didn’t turn back  
when he reminded Hutch that he had to be on a flight to San  
Francisco immediately after Oliver’s bail hearing in the  
morning. Talking to the dark street, waiting for the inevitable  
from Starsky, taking the smallest comfort in his detective’s  
predictability.

Starsky started to protest. Reasoning with Dobey that he  
should make the trip, let Hutch rest, let him get over what he  
just saw. Hutch mumbled something about Starsky shutting  
the hell up; after all it had been just as hard on Starsky.  
  
“It wasn’t just as hard on me, Hutch. Captain, Hutch wouldn’t  
let me anywhere near that dumpster…”

Dobey didn’t want to hear anymore. Following his words into  
the dark street, he threw over his shoulder, “Deal with your  
partner, Hutchinson. Just make sure you’re on that flight. I’m  
going home. I need to hold my daughter.”

What more could be said after that? Starsky and Hutch  
watched their captain walk slowly to his car, watched his arm  
bend so a handkerchief could be retrieved from a pocket,  
watched his head bow as he passed the dumpster.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Starsky sat naked and cross-legged on the corner of their  
bed, watching Hutch throw a fifth pair of briefs into his  
battered overnight bag.

“Planning on staying a while, blondie? You make plans I  
don’t know about?”

“What?”

“You’re only going to be gone a day, babe, two tops. What’s  
with all the underwear?” Starsky leaned forward for a better  
view, “Socks, your black dress shoes, and is that your ski  
jacket?”

Hutch didn’t answer, just stood in place and stared at the  
suitcase as if he had never seen it before. _Hutch, what are  
you seeing? Don’t, Hutch._ Starsky took him by his arms,  
nudged the back of his knees, and sat him down on the bed  
and kissed him. Emptied the suitcase and started over again  
for Hutch. Two changes of clothing, toiletries, and a copy of  
the picture they both carried when they were apart. Trying to  
distract enough to change the subject without words,  
because words would hurt too much.

“There you go, blondie. Enough clothes and a picture of  
yours truly. What more could you possibly need?”  
Starsky figured Hutch meant to laugh. The sound his lover  
made broke his heart.

“Hutch, Hutch…come here, let me hold you.” Starsky  
stretched out on the bed, patting the space before him,  
pulling gently at Hutch, getting him to cooperate. “Can’t stop  
seeing them, can you, babe?”

The sound came again and then quiet, and Starsky curled  
himself around Hutch, feeling more than hearing him grieve.  
The tremors gradually ceasing, Hutch’s body relaxing in  
Starsky’s arms. Starsky eased his way off the bed, set the  
alarm for a ridiculously early hour, turned on the fan, and  
pulled the blankets up to Hutch’s chin as he slid back into his  
place behind him. _Sleep, buddy, let it go. I’m here. Don’t go  
back there, don’t look anymore_.

Starsky batted at the alarm clock five hours later, confused  
for a few seconds when the clock was silenced but not by  
him. Scared when his stretching body found Hutch’s side of  
the bed empty.

“Hutch?”  
  
“Right here.” Hutch’s voice came from the vicinity of their  
bedside chair. Starsky didn’t have to see his partner to know  
Hutch had been sitting there for a long while, had not slept  
for long enough, was still reeling from the murders.  
  
“Come back to bed, Hutch, please come by me.”  
  
Hutch didn’t move. Starsky rose from their bed to kneel in  
front of his lover, hands braced on his own knees, wanting  
so badly to touch Hutch, but knowing after so many years  
when to give Hutch his space, knowing Hutch would open to  
him eventually.  
  
The words came slowly, Hutch’s voice hitching back every  
few syllables. “So many lives wasted, taken from their  
families. Starsk? Those little girls, they had parents and  
grandparents and brothers and sisters--what are they feeling  
now? Oh God, babe, what did those babies feel when Oliver  
and his goons had at them? So scared, so confused…the  
hurt…”  
  
Hutch’s arms opened then, the words done for that moment,  
the tears starting. Starsky stood and pulled Hutch into his  
embrace, shushing and petting him. Cursing Duncan Oliver  
to burn in Hell.  
  
“The families are hurting, Hutch. We can’t change that for  
them. All we can do is make sure Oliver is nailed, give them  
the little bit of peace we can by doing that. His bail hearing is  
this morning. Dobey, you, me…all of our squad will be there.  
It’s the first step, babe. Now, come back to bed with me?”  
  
Hutch was wrapped in Starsky’s arms, his lover holding him  
tenderly, a whispered “I love you” drifting over his shoulder.  
  
“Starsk? We’re not due in court for nearly three hours. Why  
did you set the alarm for so early?”  
  
“I…I just wanted…with you going away.” Starsky quit trying  
to explain. Feeling a bit embarrassed, a bit ashamed, a  
bigger bit selfish.  
  
“You wanted to make love?” There was no criticism in  
Hutch’s tone, just a simple, gentle question.  
“I’m sorry, Hutch, I…”  
  
Hutch’s mouth on his own shut Starsky up.

"I need you, Starsk. Make love to me."

~*~*~*~

“Starsky! Wake up, Dave...are you with me now?”  
  
Starsky struggled to wake up, his captain’s voice urgent over  
the phone. The last vestiges of his dream about Hutch,  
about being with Hutch, slipped away, leaving emptiness  
Starsky wanted filled. His alarm clock read two a.m.  
Something must be up.  
  
“Yeah, Cap, I’m here.” Running his fingers through his hair,  
grabbing a handful of curls tightly, anchoring himself to ask,  
“Cap, Hutch is okay...?”  
  
“I’m sure Hutch is fine, Starsky. Edith and I need a favor. Cal  
is down at camp...some sort of bug going around. Anyhow,  
they need us down there right away.” Starsky heard Dobey  
draw a deep breath before he continued. “There’ve been a  
few cases of meningitis, Dave. Edith is beside herself with  
worry.”  
  
_As if you’re not, Cap_. “What can I do?”  
  
“We can’t risk exposing Rosie. Would you stay with her?  
With all that’s going on with the Duncan Oliver case...well, I  
need someone I can trust. I’d ask Hutchinson, too, but it  
looks like he won’t be back from San Francisco ‘til late  
tomorrow night...”  
  
“Hey, Cap, you know I’m Rosie’s favorite.” Starsky tried his  
best to sound indignant. “I’ll be there in 45 minutes. That  
okay?”  
  
“Fine, fine, Dave. And Starsky? Thanks.”  
  
Starsky scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and threw a  
change of clothes into his old army duffel bag. A quick  
shower and he was off, the past few days playing over again  
in his mind. Duncan Oliver, spoiled rich boy, blatant bigot,  
and accused murderer, now out on bail, the million-dollar  
figure no problem for mommy and daddy. _Damn justice  
system wouldn’t even deny the bastard bail. Damn near  
caught him red handed--what the hell are we fighting for?_  
Starsky slapped the steering wheel in tired frustration. _He  
may not have had the blood on him his goons did, but still,  
how could that judge rule in favor of bail? Guess money  
does talk…even dirty money like Oliver’s._

The unusual turns of events that had placed Dobey as the  
arresting officer at the scene of Duncan’s last massacre, and  
Dobey’s up-coming testimony that would all but guarantee  
Oliver would be locked away for life, put their captain in an  
unwelcome spotlight. Starsky remembered all too clearly the  
courtroom scene yesterday morning when bail was made.  
Oliver’s family and band of followers had screamed racial  
slurs and expletives at Dobey and his officers. Several  
scuffles had broken out and courtroom officers had been  
hard pressed to keep control. Oliver had turned directly to  
Dobey, his voice a menacing whisper. “I’m out now, Captain  
Dobey,” spitting Dobey’s rank out like it was garbage. “I’ll  
see that you and yours pay. You’ll never testify.” Starsky and  
Hutch had had to restrain their captain at the mention of his  
family. The two of them made a pact to see that no harm  
came to the family they considered their own. If Dobey had  
noticed the extra attention, he never said so.  
  
Pulling up to the curb in front of Dobey’s home, Starsky took  
the time to empty his vehicle of ammunition and the spare  
handgun he kept locked away in his trunk, tucking them  
away in his duffel bag. Just in case. The Dobeys were  
waiting for him, obviously eager to get to Cal. Starsky gave  
Edith a comforting hug and helped his captain load the car,  
quietly going over last minute instructions, constantly  
checking over each other’s shoulders for unusual activity.  
  
“Rosie knows about the ‘safe-room’, Starsky. It’s already  
stocked with water and food and blankets and such. I’ve had  
extra patrols go by, but with so many officers assigned  
downtown for the festivals this weekend, they’ll be  
unavailable for a bit. If the camp infirmary releases Cal, we’ll  
be back sometime tomorrow night. I’ve taken you off the duty  
roster and left a message at headquarters for Hutch to  
contact you here. There’s plenty of food and beer for both of  
you. Rosie will wake up around seven...” Dobey paused for a  
breath and Starsky took the opportunity to cut in.  
  
“Cap, it’s okay. I can handle this. I won’t let anything happen  
to Rosie, you know that. Now, go get Edith. Cal’s waiting. I’ll  
take good care of her, Cap.”  
  
Dobey stopped to look at Starsky, thankful once again his  
family had him in their lives. Cal and Rosie adored both him  
and Hutch, and Edith did, too. _Yes, yes, my Rosie will be  
safe with her ‘Uncle Starsky’. Have to take those two out for  
dinner when we get back, thank them for all the extra  
attention they’ve been paying to me. Probably thought I  
hadn’t noticed them entering rooms ahead of me and  
keeping watch while I walked to my car...checking out  
strangers in the halls...surprised Starsky didn’t taste-test my  
food.  
_  
~*~*~*~  
  
Starsky’s nose was twitching. _Tickles_. A swat at his own face  
brought a torrent of giggles and he readily identified the  
source as one Rosie Dobey, seven years of age, overly  
smart daughter of Captain and Edith Dobey, armed with a  
very long peacock feather. Opening one eye and making a  
great show of scrunching up his face, Starsky launched into  
a giant fake sneeze, aimed directly at his charge for the day.  
  
“Yew, yuck, Uncle Starsky. That’s gross!”  
  
Starsky grabbed the little girl, tickling her relentlessly,  
dissolving in laughter of his own as she gasped for breath.  
Running out of air, he settled the child against him on the  
sofa in Dobey’s den.  
  
“Morning, Rosie-posey.”  
  
“Hi, Uncle Starsky, where’s Daddy and Mommy?”  
  
Starsky felt pretty good that Rosie wasn’t the slightest bit  
frightened. As if waking up to her parents gone and him on  
the couch was a normal, every day thing. _Well, it’s not as if  
Hutch and I haven’t sacked out here before, quite a few  
times, now that I think of it._ Both men had found their way to  
the Dobey home many times over the years. Shootings,  
illnesses, sometimes just plain being scared, had all led  
them there. The presence and acceptance of Dobey and his  
wife, the innocent silliness of their kids, often just what was  
needed.  
  
“Mom and Dad had to run down to Cal’s camp; he’s not  
feeling so great. Be home before you know it, kiddo.”  
  
“Cal’s sick?” Starsky nodded his response. “Well,” Rosie put  
on her arrogant shtick. “Serves him right. He was mean to  
me before he left, said my hair was way too curly.” Rosie  
cast a sidelong look at Starsky. “You don’t think so, do you?”  
  
Starsky held in a laugh. _Boy, to be a kid and have such  
worries. _ “Rosie, I happen to think your hair is beautiful. Hey,  
how’s about green pancakes for breakfast? You promise not  
to tell Uncle Hutch we made them that way, and you can add  
the green. Deal?”

“Sure.” The next second Rosie was frowning. “How come I  
can’t tell Uncle Hutch we made them green?”

“Made his lips green.” _And of course there was something  
about my lips being green, too, and him feeling like a frog  
was giving him head, and whole thing grossing him out. Not  
enough to make me stop, though…  
_

Rosie accepted his response and an hour later Starsky sat  
across from a green lipped little girl, nursing a second cup of  
coffee. _And Hutch thinks I eat a lot._ His eyes constantly on  
the move, searching shadows and corners in the house, the  
outdoors effectively blocked by draperies and blinds.  
  
“’Bout done there, Rosie?”  
  
“Mm-mm. Great pancakes, Uncle Starsky. Don’t tell Daddy,  
but I like yours better. Daddy never makes ‘em green.”  
_Nope, that doesn’t surprise me_. “Secret’s safe with me, kid.  
Rosie, soon as you’re done, I want you to go get dressed  
and stuff while I clean up. But first, we need to have some  
straight talk, okay?”  
  
Rosie’s big brown eyes were calm as she nodded  
agreement. As Dobey’s daughter, she was more than used  
to straight talk.  
  
“Now, Rosie, I know that you know about the ‘safe room’  
under the staircase. Uncle Hutch and I helped your dad  
design and build it when you were just a baby, did you know  
that? I also know you know about a bad man named Oliver  
who’s pretty mad at your dad right now.” Starsky paused.  
The last thing he wanted to do was scare his favorite little  
girl. “Rosie, just in case, a real tiny just in case, let’s think up  
a code word, okay? When I say that word, you get in the  
‘safe room’ and stay put. No questions, ands, ifs, or...?”  
  
“Buts!” Rosie giggled as she supplied the missing word.  
  
“Right, sweetheart. And don’t come out for anybody but your  
daddy. Not me, not Uncle Hutch, not even Mommy. Only for  
Daddy. That’s real important, Rosie. Because if your daddy  
is here, any trouble will be over. Now, what should our secret  
word be...any ideas?”  
  
Rosie pondered the idea, all solemn concentration, wanting  
to please Starsky. A smile began to tug at the corners of her  
mouth and mischief lit her face as she exclaimed,  
  
“I know! Striped Tomato!”  
  
Starsky rolled his eyes, _one of these days, Hutch_ , and  
swatted the quickly retreating fanny with the morning paper.  
  
While Rosie was getting dressed, Starsky made a quick,  
thorough search of the house. Doors were all double locked,  
windows all secured. Draperies and blinds were left closed  
tight, blocking out prying eyes. His spare gun and  
ammunition were removed from his duffel bag and hidden  
away in Dobey’s den. Starsky finished cleaning up the  
kitchen and walked out to the hallway to find Rosie laying a  
small bundle of belongings topped with a doll next to the  
paneled wall that ran under the stairs. _Oh, sweetheart_.  
Looking closely at the wall, he could find no discernible trace  
of the entrance door hidden in the grooves of the paneling.  
The door opened in so that the baseboard ran in one  
continuous strip, concealing it well from anyone not knowing  
the door existed. Three heavy slide bolts waited inside to  
secure the door. Safety for Dobey’s family, for an officer  
needing to be hidden, for a police captain in a sometimes  
vicious and vindictive city.  
  
“What’cha doin’, Rosie?”  
  
“Just in case, Uncle Starsky, Daddy says I should always be  
ready.”  
  
“Hmm, you join the Boy Scouts, Rosie-posey?”  
  
“Uncle Starsky,” the long-suffering Rosie rolled her eyes at  
Starsky’s silly question. “You know I’m not a boy. Come on,  
let’s watch cartoons.”  
  
Two hours of cartoons, three Monopoly games -- 2 Rosie, 1  
Starsky -- and a hot dog lunch eaten picnic style in the  
forbidden living room passed half the day away. Starsky was  
washing up and missing Hutch and thinking about a call to  
headquarters to see if he had checked in when a shadow  
passed behind the drawn curtains on the kitchen door. The  
front doorbell rang at the same moment and Starsky knew  
instinctively that trouble had found them.  
  
“Rosie,” as soft and calm as he could keep his voice. “Rosie,  
Striped Tomato.”  
  
As worried as he was, Starsky still watched with pride as  
Rosie quietly gathered her belongings and headed for the  
‘safe room’. The little girl tried her best to be brave but the  
tears fell and Starsky gathered her in his arms and carried  
her the rest of the way.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Remember what I said and only  
come out for your daddy. Rosie? Listen, honey, no matter  
what you hear, or how scared you are, don’t make a sound.  
Don’t worry about me, ‘kay, Princess? I won’t let anything  
happen to you. Just stay put. You’ll be fine in there until your  
daddy gets home.” Starsky set Rosie down and took her little  
face in his hands. “Promise me, Rosie. So I know you’ll be  
okay.”  
  
“I promise, Uncle Starsky. I’ll be good.” Rosie was crying by  
then. “I love you.”  
  
“That’s my girl. I love you, too. In you go.” Starsky offered up  
a prayer for Rosie’s safety as he listened for the three bolts  
to slide into place. Please, God...  
  
The doorbell rang again. Starsky grabbed his Beretta and  
slipped it in the waistband of his jeans. Pulling on his jacket  
and grabbing his keys, he headed to the door. _Maybe_ _I can  
keep this outside, get to the car and radio, away from Rosie.  
No way I can watch all the doors and windows inside_. Pulling  
the door open, he hurried out, almost bowling over the large  
man who stood there. _Damn, looks like one of Oliver’s men.  
  
_ “Hey, sorry, fella, just on my way out. You want something,  
tell me about it on the way to my car.” Starsky kept moving,  
determined to put distance between himself and Rosie.  
Halfway down Dobey’s tiered front yard, a second man  
stepped from the shadows. Starsky stopped short at the  
sight of the revolver aimed at his belly.  
  
“Afternoon, Detective Starsky. What’s your rush?”  
  
“Who wants to know?”  
  
Starsky got his answer when Duncan Oliver stepped  
forward.  
  
“I want to know, Detective. I’ve come to pay Captain Dobey  
and his family a call. Have a little discussion about his  
testimony. Where are they?” Oliver circled Starsky slowly,  
relieving him of his weapon, Starsky refusing to play his  
game, staring straight ahead. “Strong, silent type are you?  
Let’s go in the house, officer, have ourselves a nice little chat  
about your captain’s whereabouts.”  
  
“And if I refuse?”  
  
“Go ahead. We’ll get you inside anyhow, Jimmy here pulls  
the trigger, hurts you bad but doesn’t kill you, and my men  
burn the place down with you in it, still alive. I told Dobey I’d  
get him and his. You just happen to be first.” Oliver grinned,  
giving a friendly wave to a couple walking down the street.  
Jimmy had stepped back into the afternoon shadows, his  
weapon discreetly targeting the pair, daring Starsky to make  
a move. “Go on, Starsky, get in the house. Don’t want to  
draw the attention of any of the neighbors.”

Starsky recognized the couple from the Dobeys’ summer barbecue.  
He purposely refrained from returning their greeting, glaring  
at them with what he hoped was an attention grabbing dirty  
look. _Names...Ginny and...Tom, Ginny and Tom. Hope they  
remember what a good time we had, maybe file my dirty look  
away, catch on to trouble here. Look at me, dammit, catch  
on._  
  
“Now, Starsky, inside. We’ll talk, or perhaps you’re in the  
mood for a good fire? Your choice.”  
  
There was no choice to make. Starsky had no doubts that  
Oliver would indeed torch Dobey’s home and Rosie was in  
there, depending on him to keep her safe. He turned and  
walked back up the flagstone steps, Oliver on one side,  
Jimmy on the other, the third man directly behind them.  
Starsky used Dobey’s spare key and opened the door.  
_Please, Rosie, be in that ‘safe room’. Don’t come out, honey.  
Please_.  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ken Hutchinson stood patiently in line, waiting to exit the  
airliner that had brought him home to Bay City and Starsky.  
The Bay City International Airport was busy. Several events  
were taking place in the city over the weekend and from the  
look of the crowds, everyone attending was from out of town.  
Finally freed from the plane, Hutch made his way to the bank  
of pay phones that lined the terminal. No answer at home,  
he dialed the direct line to the squad room and was pleased  
to hear Minnie answer the phone.  
  
“Hey, Minnie, it’s Hutch. Been trying to get hold of Starsky,  
any idea where that partner of mine is off to?” Hutch followed  
the luggage carousel with his eyes, waiting for his bag to  
come down the belt.  
  
“Hutch--hi, honey. How’s San Francisco looking?”  
  
“Better than this, Minnie. I’m at the airport, thought Starsk  
could pick me up. You know where he is? Hang on a sec’, I  
see my bag. Okay, Minnie, still there? Man, this place is a  
zoo.”  
  
“Starsky is on baby-sitting duty with Rosie as of last night.  
Captain and Mrs. Dobey had to go see Cal; he got sick at  
camp. Captain left a message here for you to contact  
Starsky at his house. What are you doing back so soon,  
Hutch? Thought you got in late tonight.”  
  
“Wrapped things up early, Minnie. Did you say Starsky is  
baby-sitting? Listen, if he calls in, don’t tell him I’m back yet,  
I’ll surprise him and Rosie later with pizza for dinner, I have  
to run by the courthouse and give a quick deposition. DA’s  
working overtime this weekend.”  
  
Hutch was about to hang up when a discarded newspaper  
caught his eye. Out of date by just a few days, it detailed  
Duncan Oliver’s bail hearing, including the threats he had  
made against Captain Dobey and his family, focusing heavily  
on Oliver’s bigotry. Hutch and Starsky were photographed  
holding Dobey back as he reacted to Oliver’s taunting. Hutch  
suddenly felt uneasy, goosebumps breaking out despite the  
heat of the day. _Starsky?  
  
_ “Minnie? Do me a favor, will you? Try to reach Starsky at  
Dobey’s place for me. I’ll call you back from the courthouse, I  
need to catch a cab and get over there. Minnie, has  
everything been quiet the last two days? No trouble with  
Duncan Oliver?”  
  
“Not a peep, Hutch. Now which is it? Do I tell him you’re  
back or do you still want to surprise the two kids with a  
pizza?”  
  
Hutch laughed, Minnie chasing away his uneasiness. “I’ll  
surprise them, Minnie, just tell him I checked in and I’ll call  
him later, okay? Oh, and Minnie, if Dobey calls, let him know  
I’ll be at his place with Starsky.”  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
Relief washed over Starsky. For all appearances the house  
was empty. _Good girl, Rosie._ His good feeling was short-  
lived. Oliver nodded at Jimmy who in turn forced Starsky to  
his knees, gun pressed hard to his temple. Another nod and  
the gun was removed. Two closed fists hitting hard against  
the sides of his head stunned Starsky. A kick to his back  
followed and he fell gasping to the floor. _Damn, don’t cry out,  
don’t let Rosie hear.  
_  
“Now then, Detective Starsky, let me ask you one more time.  
Where is Dobey? When will he be back?”  
  
“I don’t know where he is.” Another nod, this time a kick to  
his belly. _Shit!_ Starsky bit down hard on his lip, stifling a  
moan. _Think, tell him something_. “Dobey asked me to house-  
sit, didn’t tell me where he was going or when to expect him  
back. Be stupid of him if he had, don’t you think, Oliver?”  
  
Oliver crouched down in front of Starsky. Grabbing a handful  
of curly hair, he pulled Starsky’s head up to his eye level.  
Starsky winced, then forced himself to make his expression  
blank, revealing nothing as he returned Oliver’s gaze.  
  
“I don’t think animals like Dobey have brains at all, Detective.  
Big black ape like Dobey can’t...” Oliver’s words were cut off  
as Starsky spit square in his face. _Can’t let Rosie hear that  
kind of garbage, got to shut him up, make him concentrate  
on me...  
_  
Oliver pushed Starsky’s head back hard to the floor.  
Standing, he calmly wiped the spit from his face. Starsky  
reeled onto his back from pain as Oliver’s booted foot found  
his forehead, splitting the skin, clouding his vision with haze.  
Oliver’s voice was filled with quiet fury as he spoke to one of  
his men.  
  
“Get the rope, Jimmy.”  
  
Oliver grabbed Starsky’s hair again, yanking viciously, this  
time pulling him to his feet and dragging him from the living room back to the  
foyer. _Good. Maybe they’re gonna take me out of here, out of the house, Rosie might be safe..._ Starsky held his breath when Oliver stopped and studied the  
staircase. _Quiet, Rosie, stay quiet._  
  
“Up there, Jimmy. Secure the rope to the railing on the  
landing. We’ll tie his wrists together and let him hang until he tells me what I  
want to know. Hank, give me a hand.”  
  
_Terrific, right in front of Rosie. How the hell do I play this  
one? Dammit! Best be cool, can’t help her if I’m dead...promised  
Cap...need some help...Hutch, come home early, partner...  
_  
Putting up just enough of a fight to waylay suspicion, Starsky  
soon found himself hanging by tightly bound wrists directly in front of the  
‘safe room’ door. Oliver and Hank had been none too gentle; elbows, knees,  
and fists finding plentiful targets along Starsky’s torso. Starsky’s hands were already swelling, circulation denied by the tight bindings. Blood from  
Oliver’s kick ran freely down the left side of his face, soaking into his shirt  
collar. Starsky’s feet could only half touch the floor, leaving him unsteady, his  
body’s weight pulling hard on his arms, forcing the rope at  
his hands deeply into his skin.  
  
“Now then, Detective Starsky, ready to tell me where Dobey  
is? No? Let’s begin our little talk, then. Have I introduced you to Hank  
here? Hank just got out of prison, Starsky. Hank, show our friend here what you  
think of cops.”  
  
Hank moved directly in front of Starsky, standing there  
grinning without the benefit of most of his front teeth. Well over six feet, burly,  
smelly. Mean.  
  
“I.” A punch to Starsky’s jaw. “Hate.” His left side, then right. “Pigs!”  
Starsky’s belly became Hank’s punching bag, blow after  
blow until Oliver said simply, “Stop.”  
  
Starsky’s head fell to his chest, the strength to hold it up  
taken away along with his ability to breathe. _God, please...  
Breathe, that’s it, get your breath. Do it for Rosie. Stay  
awake for Rosie._ Forcing himself to gain control, Starsky  
swallowed hard and lifted his head. Hank pranced in front  
of him, some deranged boxer waiting for another turn at the  
bag. Oliver leaned on the wall opposite Starsky, surrounded  
by Dobey family pictures. A smiling Rosie peeked over his  
shoulder and that’s where Starsky put his concentration. _For Rosie…won’t_ _let anything happen to her, Cap. I promised..._  
  
“Again.”  
  
Rosie’s face rippled and blurred as Hank launched into  
round two. Starsky’s face and abdomen were pummeled  
over and over, high then low, side to side, blood from his  
face spattering the white paneling behind him. Something  
tore deep in his gut and Starsky had to cry out. _God! God,  
I’m sorry, Rosie, don’t listen, baby, it’s okay...  
_  
“Stop.” Oliver planted himself between Hank and Starsky.  
“Now then, Detective, I think Hank has made himself clear.” Crooking  
his index finger under Starsky’s chin, he raised the battered face to meet his  
eyes. “I don’t plan to kill you yet, Detective, but there is something you  
should know. Hank’s dislike for cops, Detective? Nothing compared to the  
way I feel about that nigger captain of yours _.”. Rosie, it’s okay, don’t listen,  
doesn’t mean anything._ “You ready to tell me where he is now?  
Things will only get worse for you. I promise.”  
  
Starsky glared at Oliver, defiant, angry. The degradation of  
his captain sickened him, pushed his own misery aside. _Fuck you,  
Oliver._ Ignoring the pain that burned in his belly, blinking away the blood in his  
eyes, Starsky drew on his reserves to answer, his tone low, deadly.  
  
“Dobey’s gonna put you away and I’m gonna be standin’  
right next to him.”  
  
Duncan snorted, looking at Starsky as if he had lost his  
mind.  
  
“You’re a fool, Detective. You won’t live to see the day. One  
more, Hank.”  
  
Hank’s final blow was tremendous, hitting Starsky hard on  
the right side of his ribcage. As he was delivered to unconsciousness,  
Starsky asked himself over and over again if Rosie could have heard the breaking of his ribs.

Starsky heard. _Don’t listen, baby..._  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
Hutch shifted wearily in the hard wooden chair. His  
deposition had turned out to be anything but quick. Interruption after interruption had already dragged it out to better than two hours. His earlier feeling that something might be wrong at Dobey’s fluttered back through his mind and took hold. Ignoring the irritated look bestowed on him by the DA, Hutch quietly excused himself and headed off to find a phone. Slipping in a dime, he dialed Dobey’s number.  
  
_Phone’s ringin’, gotta wake up, get the phone. Oh, God, I  
hurt, what...Hutch? Hutch, where are you? Is it late tonight yet, buddy, are you  
on your way? Be careful, Hutch, get Rosie, need help for Rosie...  
  
_ Damn. There was no answer at Dobey’s. Hutch rustled up  
some more change and once again dialed the precinct.  
  
“Minnie? Had any luck rousing Starsky? No, I just tried, too.  
Hey, have dispatch try the car radio, maybe he and Rosie went out...I’ll  
call back as soon as I can, the deposition will probably take another hour to wrap up. Keep trying, Minnie...No, nothing’s wrong that I know of, just  
a feeling I guess. Minnie, when you talk to Starsky, go ahead and tell  
him I’m home, okay? Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

Starsky came around slowly. Realizing that the phone that  
was ringing was Dobey’s. He could see Oliver and his boys  
at the kitchen table, staring at the ringing telephone like  
they’d never seen one before. _Maybe they’ll think it’s a  
phone and answer it. Idiots_. Sucking in a deep breath,  
Starsky pressed the balls of his feet to the floor, desperate to  
take some of the strain off of his arms and shoulders. Currents of pain shot down his arms, fingertips to shoulders to ribs, grimly reminding him of the assault on his body. Starsky knew he cried out, knew he had drawn the attention of his captors, was vaguely aware that Oliver had left the kitchen and was standing in front of him. Oliver grabbed Starsky’s throat, pushing up and back, forcing his head backward, blocking his air. Choking him.  
  
“Someone’s been trying real hard to reach you, Detective.  
Phone’s been ringing off the hook. Who would it be, Detective? Dobey?  
Your partner? Who? Ready to talk now? Just tell me where Dobey is, or when  
he’ll be back, and this can be all over.”  
  
Oliver’s fingers tightened on Starsky’s windpipe. Starsky  
tried desperately to gulp in air, too helpless and weak to fight. His chin fell  
over Oliver’s hand as fresh blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.  
_Help, please, Hutch, Cap..._ Bright white haze replaced the murky darkness that  
was trying to swallow him as Oliver released his throat, grabbed his jaw in  
its place, and slammed Starsky’s head back to the wall. Blessed air  
filled Starsky’s lungs as he panted hard, fighting to get his bearings back.  
Oliver brought his face in close, his voice an angry hiss.

“Listen and listen good. One hour, Starsky. One hour of hell  
like you’ve never imagined.” Oliver squeezed Starsky’s face hard,  
fingers digging, hurting. “You’re not going to win, Detective. Protecting  
Dobey was your first mistake, crossing me will be your last, you damn fool. One  
hour to tell me where Dobey is, after that you’re dead. I don’t have anymore  
time to waste on you. Just tell me where Dobey is.”  
  
_An hour, he’s giving me an hour, an hour to hope, an hour  
for help to get here. Hutch, hurry, Rosie is so little. An hour. Cap, please get  
here, she’s waiting for you...I can hold on for an hour, just get here...  
_  
The last hour of Starsky’s life began with another round with  
Hank.  
  
Starsky was slow to come around after his last session with  
Hank’s fists. _Just as soon stay asleep, hurts too much, running out of time. Hutch, hurry. I need you._ Starsky knew it was late, shadows  
shrouded Dobey’s home. _Must be going on four hours.  
Maybe Rosie fell asleep, too. Please, God, let her sleep  
through this.  
  
_ Starsky started as ice cold water was thrown over his head,  
bringing him back to full consciousness, stinging at his many cuts. His  
body jerking in response, pulling the ropes at his wrists still deeper into his  
flesh. His eyes flying wide open from the pain. Standing before him in  
a little half-circle were his captors. Hank grinning like a fool, Edith’s empty  
cleaning bucket dangling from his beefy fist, Jimmy staring in morbid  
fascination at the broken man before him. And Oliver, standing calmly still,  
tapping the palm of his hand with a flat metal object, clearing his throat to get  
Starsky’s attention, a teacher about to deliver a lesson.  
  
“Used up a good thirty minutes of your hour already, Starsky.  
You can tell me where Dobey is now and I’ll put you out of your misery or we  
can ‘talk’ for another thirty minutes. You die either way, makes no difference to me how long you suffer.”  
  
_Thirty minutes...still a chance...hurry, Hutch, please be  
home, get over here. Can’t hold on much longer. Hurts. Do you know how  
much I love you?_ “I told you, I don’t know.” The pain in his  
throat strangling Starsky’s words. His eyes still defiant and determined.  
  
“I think, Detective, that your loyalty to Dobey has crossed the  
line to stupidity. Perhaps you need to have it made perfectly clear  
just exactly what you are protecting. Let me spell it out for you.”  
  
Duncan flicked his wrist and Starsky brought his head up at  
the snap of a switchblade opening. Duncan leaned in close and brought  
the blade to Starsky’s throat, zigzagging the tip down to his chest,  
drawing tiny beads of blood. Starsky kept his head pressed against the wall behind him, terror and pain fighting each other, one wanting him to move, get the hell away, the other demanding that he stay still, avoid the sharp blade that was torturing him. Duncan moved the blade to Starsky’s waist, slipping the  
edge under his shirt, slicing the fabric open with a forceful upward swipe,  
exposing Starsky’s already battered and bruised chest.

“This is what you are dying for, Starsky. A worthless black-skinned man and  
his equally worthless black-skinned family.”  
  
Starsky groaned, his heart breaking for Rosie. _Rosie, you  
are worth the world to me, to so many people. Oliver is insane, honey. Don’t  
listen to him, he’s wrong. Please, Rosie, stay strong for me, soon, your daddy  
will be here soon. Sleep, baby._ Starsky’s emotions tumbled wildly. He wanted  
Oliver to shut up, he wanted the pain to stop, he wanted Rosie safe with  
her family. He wanted Hutch. He was afraid, terrified of the monster  
bringing the switchblade back up toward his neck.  
  
“N.” Starsky screamed in protest, muscles tightening  
desperately as he fought the agony of having the letter carved into his chest. _No! No, don’t do that!_ “I.” A quick slice downward followed excruciatingly by two  
“G’s” carved like interrupted circles over his heart. “E.” _Stop, please, stop!  
Damn, it hurts, stop_. Four more slices, down to his belly now, Starsky  
writhing against the pain, calling in silent helplessness for Hutch _. Help me,  
Hutch, oh, please, where are you?_ “R.” cut in just above his  
navel. _Too much, I can’t_... Blood pouring from his wounds, gray with misery, his strength all but gone, Starsky sagged heavily from his bound wrists. _Hutch, help, don’t let Rosie see, protect her. Hutch. I’m sorry, I tried.  
_  
“Perhaps you need a bit of emphasis with your spelling lesson, Detective  
Starsky.”Starsky choked on his own scream as the switchblade found  
its mark in his belly just above his belt, the blade sinking  
deep as Oliver whispered in Starsky’s ear,  
  
“Exclamation point.”  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
“Zebra 3, come in. Hutch, it’s Minnie, come in please.”  
Minnie’s voice crackled over the radio, worry in her tone.  
  
Hutch was worried, too. No word from Starsky. No response  
to his police radio, no answer at Dobey’s. And that feeling.  
_Something’s wrong, I know it is.  
  
_ “Minnie, I’m heading over to Dobey’s. Have a black and  
white meet me there, would you? I’m going to strangle  
Starsky when I see him...” _And then I’m going to tell him how  
much I love him and how scared I’ve been. And when we get  
home, I’ll show him. Please be okay, Starsk, let me show  
you…  
  
_ “Hutch, hold on, listen to me, honey. A neighbor of Dobey’s  
just called in a report of suspicious activity next door. Says  
Starsky was out on Dobey’s front lawn with three men earlier  
today and was acting strange. His wife just finally realized  
one of the men was Duncan Oliver, Hutch. She remembered  
him from the newspaper photos.”  
  
“No. Damn! Minnie, did she say what they did, where they  
went?”  
  
“They went in the house, Hutch, and haven’t come back out,  
neighbor says it’s pretty dark over there, all the curtains are  
closed. Hutch, Rosie is in there, too.”  
  
“Listen, Minnie, we need to get hold of Dobey. Check his  
desk and find the name of Cal’s camp. If he’s already left,  
get hold of the highway patrol and have them get a chopper  
in the air and track down Dobey’s car. I’ll be at Dobey’s  
within 30 minutes. Have all available units meet me there, no  
sirens, no lights—I don’t want any surprises with Rosie in  
there. I know Starsky is doing everything he can to protect  
her, but he’s obviously out numbered.” _Out numbered?  
That’s a good one. They’re probably beating the shit out of  
him. Dammit! Why did I wait so long…  
_  
“I’ll take care of it. Hutch, there’s one more thing.” Minnie’s  
voice was cracking with emotion as she struggled to give  
Hutch the rest of the bad news. “The neighbor spotted a man  
bringing gasoline cans into the house from Dobey’s garage.”  
  
Hutch clenched the steering wheel hard, fear coursing  
through his body. Rosie had to be hidden in the ‘safe room’.  
He was sure Starsky would have put her out of harm’s way.  
No matter what Starsky did to protect her, he wouldn’t be  
able to save the little girl from fire without revealing she was  
in the house. There was no way in hell Starsky would let  
Oliver at Rosie, he would die first. _Exactly what I’m afraid is  
happening, Starsk. Hold on, I’m on my way. Please hold on.  
  
_ “Okay, Minnie, okay, we’ll get Starsky and Rosie out of  
there, you do what I need you to do; find Dobey and get him  
home.”  
  
“Hutch?” Minnie’s voice was soft, frightened.  
  
“I know, Minnie, me too. I’m on my way.”

Hutch pulled to a stop a block away from Dobey’s home,  
covering the remaining distance at a dead run. Dobey’s  
house was dark, slivers of light all that showed at drapery  
edges. At the sound of rapidly approaching vehicles he  
backtracked half the distance, stopping the arriving squad  
cars, gathering a dozen officers around him.  
  
“This is what we have. Starsky is in that house along with  
Dobey’s daughter, Duncan Oliver, and at least two of  
Oliver’s men.” Hutch swallowed hard, trying to keep his  
emotions in check as he continued. “Chances are high that  
Starsky is hurt bad; he may even be dead. Rosie is most  
likely in a ‘safe room’ built into the house. Neighbors  
reported a man taking gas cans into the house. We don’t  
know what Oliver wants--more likely than not, it’s Dobey.”  
Hutch kept his sentences short and clipped, fighting back the  
despair that filled his heart. All business, all commanding  
police officer.  
  
Tension sifted through the group of officers as Hutch laid out  
the facts. They all knew Starsky and most knew Rosie.  
Hutch’s fondness for his partner was no secret; a select few  
even knew the depth of that fondness and were surprised  
that Hutch had been able to keep himself from storming the  
house. Duncan Oliver was holding two of their own hostage,  
even if he was only aware of Starsky. Rosie Dobey was in  
grave danger, too; they had to get her and Starsky out of  
there. Hutch’s forced calmness served them well, keeping  
them all on track; anxious, but well focused.  
  
“How do you want to handle it, Hutch?”  
  
“Line your squad cars up around the edge of Dobey’s lawn;  
aim your spotlights at the front of the house. At my signal  
turn on all the headlights and the spots. It’s time to let Oliver  
know we’re here. I want to draw him outside, at least to a  
window, try and get a shot at him and take him out. Without  
knowing where Starsky is, it’s too risky to barge in shooting.  
Get in position and let’s take these guys. Remember, there’s  
a little girl in that house with Starsky. Be careful. Now get  
going.”  
  
A flurry of activity followed as six squad cars were  
maneuvered into place, officers checking weapons and gear,  
ready to take Dobey’s home back from Oliver. Satisfied all  
was in place, Hutch centered himself in front of the cars,  
making sure he had the attention of everyone there.  
  
“Okay, when I say ‘now’, hit the lights.”  
  
One more look at the house. Hold on, Starsk, we’re here.  
Going to get you out of there. Please be okay, hold on for  
me.  
  
“Now!”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
Duncan Oliver stood in front of Starsky, idly tracing the blood  
patterns running down his chest with the switchblade’s  
handle, smiling at the destruction before him. Starsky  
shivered and moaned; pain was all his body knew now. His  
heart knew only fear; fear for the little girl entrusted to his  
care, for her parents, for Hutch when he found him. _Oh, God,  
I’m so sorry, I’m trying so hard, hurts so bad, please,  
help...Hutch, I love you so much….  
_  
“Hour’s up, Starsky. Time for you to die, I can’t waste  
anymore time here. Dobey will find what’s left of you and get  
the message. Not as good as seeing him die, but good  
enough for now. I’ll let him know you were just the beginning.  
You put up a good fight, Detective, stupid, but good.” Oliver  
was smiling. “Get the gas cans, Jimmy.”  
  
Oliver held the bloody switchblade to Starsky’s throat,  
Starsky barely able to respond; a slight widening of his eyes,  
an in-drawn breath, his soul enveloped by an incredible  
sadness. _Who will save Rosie? Where are you, Hutch? I’m  
so sorry, Cap. Now, Hutch, I need you now. Oh, God, Hutch,  
fire, he’s gonna burn the house down. Rosie!  
_  
“Good-bye, Starsky.” Oliver pressed the knife into Starsky’s  
skin, blood gushing in a stream to join the streaks that  
covered his chest. Starsky gave a single quiet sob and then  
was still. _Hutch?_ Oliver jumped in shock as Dobey’s home  
was filled with light despite the closed draperies. “What the  
hell is that?”  
  
Hank and Jimmy peered out around the curtains to find  
Dobey’s home surrounded by spotlights. Policemen  
brandishing rifles and handguns seemed to be everywhere

“Trouble, boss, cops all over the place!”  
  
“Dammit!” Fury overtook Oliver. “Get away from those  
windows! Jimmy, check the back of the house, guard the  
kitchen door. Hank, you stay here, watch the front door. I  
need to think.”  
  
Oliver was pacing back and forth in front of Starsky, the  
switchblade hanging from his hand. Starsky stayed still,  
bleeding heavily from his head to abdomen, the bright light  
confusing him. _Hutch? Did I die? Why does it still hurt so  
much? Where are you, buddy?_ Oliver stopped,  
contemplating the man hanging before him. Pressing the flat  
side of the switchblade to the underside of Starsky’s chin, he  
used it to raise Starsky’s head.  
  
“Wake up, Detective, looks like I need you just a little longer  
after all. You’re going to be our ticket out of here. Jimmy,  
Hank, get in here. When I say so, open the front door. I want  
Detective Starsky’s fellow officers to get a good look at him  
before we cut him down. And then, Starsky, we’re walking  
out of here with you front and center. Just a little longer,  
Detective, and then you can die.”  
  
Oliver let Starsky’s head slip off of the switchblade, Starsky  
managing to keep his head up on his own long enough to  
make eye contact. _You’ll never make it, you lousy bastard.  
Every cop knows his life is dispensable. Your only hope is  
Rosie Dobey and you don’t even know she’s here. I might be  
as good as dead, Oliver, but I ain’t goin’ alone. Takin’ you  
along for the ride.  
_  
Oliver broke eye contact first, just before Starsky slipped  
under.At Oliver’s signal, Hank slowly pulled the front door open, the  
lights from outside fully illuminating the horror in Dobey’s foyer. Starsky  
hung by his hands, his face and body in profile to the stunned officers outside. Pale to the point of being colorless, Starsky’s body was defined by  
blood and bruises, his clothing torn and blood soaked, his chest  
heaving as he fought to breathe. His head hanging low, his body trembling with  
fatigue and agony.  
  
“Starsky!” _No, oh, God, no, don’t let him die, please, I’m  
coming, Starsk._  
  
Hutch did move toward the house then, fellow officers  
grabbing for him, stopping him. A squeal of tires and the slamming of a car  
door and Dobey’s voice rang out.  
  
“Hutchinson! Hutch, wait, please.”  
  
Hutch stopped, turning slowly to face his captain, not  
wanting to let Starsky out of his sight, not wanting to see Starsky as he was.  
Desperation and torment washed over his face as his eyes met Dobey’s, one  
hand staying stretched toward the house, keeping at least a symbol of  
contact.  
  
“They’re killing him, I have to get in there, he can’t fight back.  
Look at him, Captain!”  
  
Hutch started back toward the house, Dobey moving fast,  
stopping him.  
  
“Hutch, listen to me.” Dobey was pleading. “Rosie is in there,  
too. We have to be careful, find out what they want...I’ll trade myself  
for Starsky if I have to to get him out, but I won’t risk Rosie’s life. Please  
Hutch, let me handle this.”  
  
A soft sound from the street caught Hutch’s attention. Edith  
Dobey stood at the curb sobbing, her hands clenched on either side of her  
face, her eyes wide with horror at the sight of Starsky  
hanging in her home in front of the room her daughter was  
in. Hutch knew she had heard her husband’s words, knew  
any choices made now were really not choices at all. Starsky  
is willing to die for Rosie, not only as his choice, but as a  
matter of fact. He would have never done otherwise, that’s  
who he is. _Give me the strength to do the same for him,  
because that’s who I am_. Hutch took Dobey by the  
shoulders.  
  
“No, Cap. Stay with Edith, please, I’ll go. He’ll demand a way  
out and some sort of cover, we know that. He can have me.”  
Hutch took a deep breath. “Starsky is mine, Captain, my life.  
You know that. Right now he needs me. Let’s take control  
before Oliver has any more time to think.”  
  
Hutch pushed himself away from his captain and grabbed a  
bullhorn, speaking before Dobey could disagree.  
  
“Oliver! This is Detective Hutchinson.” Hutch’s heart  
squeezed tight as Starsky raised his head a little bit at the sound of his voice. _I’m coming, Starsk, hold on for me_. “A deal, Oliver, me for Starsky. Bring  
him out, let me get a medic to him, and you and whoever you have in  
there with you walk out with me, to my car, wherever you  
want to go.” Hutch held the bullhorn away  
as he whispered to Dobey, “Get our best sharpshooters  
ready, Captain. As soon as a clean shot can be taken, get  
Oliver. He has one or two men in there with him; they’ll have  
to be taken out, too. Starsky is almost gone, Cap. We don’t  
have time to argue about this.”  
  
Dobey looked from Hutch, to his wife, and then to Starsky. It  
was plain that Starsky had suffered horrific damage. That he was probably  
dying. For my Rosie, he’s dying to save my little girl.  
  
“Captain?”  
  
“All right, Hutch, it’s your show. Reynolds, Mac, take the  
sides of the house, pick the target closest to you and wait for a signal  
from Hutchinson. Nobody fires into the house. I’ve got your back, Hutch.”  
  
“Cap, please, Edith needs you...Rosie...”  
  
“Dammit, Hutch, look at your partner. He’s willing to die to  
save my child, don’t you think he deserves the same from me? I’m not  
going to...”  
  
Dobey was cut off by Duncan Oliver’s voice calling from the  
house.  
  
“Okay, Hutchinson, I’ll take your deal but on my terms. No  
medic until we drive away. Send your officers back to their cars. My men  
will cut Starsky down and put him on the lawn, you escort us to the car from  
there with my gun at your head. Call your men off. No tricks, Hutchinson. I can  
still make him hurt and I can still kill him.”  
  
Hutch made his way to the top tier of Dobey’s front yard. He  
heard faint rustlings of sound as Reynolds and Mac took their positions  
off to his sides, and the click of Dobey’s handgun at ready behind him.  
  
“Everyone hold your fire.” Hutch spoke quietly and firmly to  
his fellow officers, motioning all but the sharpshooters to retreat down  
behind the spotlights, knowing Oliver would be unable to see past the  
glare. “Stay low.” His voice raised in volume as he called out, “I’m here,  
Oliver, bring Starsky out.”  
  
Hutch watched intently through the doorway as Oliver and  
his two men moved to Starsky, Jimmy running up the steps  
to cut the ropes binding Starsky to the railing above him. Hank caught Starsky as he fell, shoving his shoulder hard into Starsky’s belly as he lifted him, ignoring the weak cry of pain and outpouring of fresh blood. Starsky stiffened for a few seconds then fell limp, his swollen hands hanging lax against Hank’s back, his blood soaking into Hank’s shirt. Hutch bit down hard on his lower lip,  
forcing himself to stay in position, Starsky’s cry nearly his undoing. _Hang on,  
babe, just a little longer, I’ll get you out, get you help. I’m here.  
_  
Oliver and Jimmy took their positions behind the bulk of  
Hank and Starsky, and began making their move out of the house toward Hutch, Jimmy holding a gun to the back of Starsky’s head. Oliver  
and his group stopped when they reached  
Hutch, Jimmy moving to Hank’s side and transferring his aim  
away from Starsky’s head to Hutch’s chest. Hutch ignored  
the gun poking into his skin and spoke directly to Oliver.  
  
“Tell your man to put my partner down gently. My car is  
waiting at the curb. Let’s go.”  
  
“Of course, Detective, but first you come here, stand in front  
of me.” Hutch did as Oliver said, his body now shielding Oliver in place of  
Starsky’s. Patting Hutch down and satisfied he had no  
weapon, Oliver spoke to Hank; “Hank, put Detective Starsky  
down, now.”  
  
Hank reached up and grabbed Starsky’s belt, pulling him  
forward off his shoulder and dropping him hard to the ground. Starsky  
sprawled lifelessly where he fell, no reaction at all to hitting the ground, silent,  
not moving. Hutch once again forcing himself not to react, to concentrate,  
to be ready. _It’s okay, Starsk, it’s okay now_. Hutch made his move  
rapidly, pulling his arm forward and then back, his elbow connecting with Oliver’s stomach, taking him by surprise, yelling out to his captain and the two  
sharpshooters.  
  
“Now! Shoot now!”  
  
Hank and Jimmy fell together, Reynolds and Mac hitting their  
targets simultaneously. Dobey’s revolver fired a split second later as  
Hutch dropped to cover Starsky with his own body. Duncan Oliver looked up  
in surprise, Dobey’s bullet leaving a hole between his eyes, his body  
collapsing below him, folding slowly down to the lawn. Dobey’s voice rang out,  
shouting orders to his men to secure the scene; facing his  
responsibilities quickly, wanting to get to his little girl, to see to Starsky. His officers raced forward, weapons trained on the downed men, confirming  
their deaths, eyes shifting to Hutch as he lifted himself off of Starsky.  
  
“Starsk? Hey, hey, can you hear me? Please, buddy, can  
you wake up for me?”  
  
Hutch rolled Starsky onto his side, needing to see his face,  
needing to find life. Starsky reacted, crying out at the movement, crossing his  
arms over his chest, grabbing the tattered fabric of his shirt, holding tight, curling into a ball.  
  
“Starsk, it’s okay now, it’s over. Please, Starsk, I need to see  
how badly you’re hurt. Let me look, pal.” Hutch ran a soothing hand  
over Starsky’s back, calming him, continually reassuring him that he was  
there, that it was over. Starsky’s body relaxed and Hutch  
took the next step, turning his partner onto his back, the  
extent of Starsky’s injuries made brutally bare by the  
spotlights.  
  
Hutch took it all in as his hands comforted and searched.  
Finding the knots of broken ribs. Finding too many bruises, so many cuts.  
Softly rubbing the swollen, blackened hands that persistently held torn fabric  
over a blood covered chest. The faded jeans blotched dark, stains  
running far down the legs, blue tennis shoes heavily spattered with red. The knife wound low on Starsky’s belly, another on the side of his neck.  
Overwhelmed with grief, Hutch had to look away, his eyes finding Oliver’s body, filling with rage at what Starsky was suffering. _You deserved this, you lousy  
son of a bitch, not Starsky. You should be hurting. God damn you, look what  
you’ve done to him. You got off far too easily, Oliver, rot in Hell..._ Hutch let go of his thoughts at the sound of Starsky coming around, calling out  
for him.  
  
“Hutch?” Starsky’s voice was surprisingly strong. “Hutch, am  
I outside?” Battered eyes barely able to open, finding his partner’s face.  
  
“Hey, buddy, yeah, you’re outside. It’s over. Starsk, can you  
let go of your shirt for me? The paramedics are here, need to check you  
out.”  
  
“No! Hutch, don’t let them see, don’t want anybody to see”  
Starsky was panicked, pulling away, holding his shirt even tighter with his  
numb fingers, his eyes pleading for Hutch to understand. Hutch motioned  
for the paramedics to give him a minute. _What is it, babe? What did they do to  
you?  
_  
“Starsk, please, it’s okay. You’re bleeding pretty badly, we  
need to see. Come on now, whatever it is, it’s okay.” Hutch wiped at Starsky’s  
tears, more frightened now by what he couldn’t see, by what Starsky was  
hiding. “I’m here, buddy, let me help you. Let me see. Just me, Starsk.”  
  
Hutch gently uncurled his partner’s fists, pulling aside his  
shirt, seeing, fighting back the panic that tightened his throat. _No! Oh,  
love, this is what they did? Starsk, oh, Starsk. I’m sorry._ Hutch held  
Starsky’s hands as tenderly as he could, filled with sadness for his lover. Starsky lay still, his head to the side; humiliated and ashamed of the message  
his body was forced to carry. Another voice called out his  
name and Captain Dobey was there, kneeling beside him, taking one of Starsky’s hands from Hutch, wrapping it carefully into his own. The word spelled out on Starsky’s flesh burning into his soul, its repulsiveness all the more abhorrent for Starsky’s suffering. The word that had caused pain since Dobey was a child just old enough to understand, now fresh and more evil than ever before.  
  
“Oh, sweet Lord...Starsky.”  
  
“Didn’t want you to see…I’m sorry.” Starsky’s hands again,  
feeble, so sore, trying to hide the obscenity carved into his skin.  
Turning away, trying to curl back on his side, hiding himself. Trying to protect his captain as he had protected his daughter. Dobey and Hutch pressing him back down, voices low and protective.  
  
“Starsky, it’s all right, we’ll get that fixed, the doctors  
will...please, don’t say you’re sorry. None of this is your fault.  
Starsky, listen to me.” Dobey had to know, couldn’t wait any  
longer. “Rosie. Is she in the ‘safe room’, is she okay?”  
  
Dobey’s question brought Starsky back around. He rested  
his hands, leaving his shirt alone, a new light in his eyes as he focused on his  
captain. Quiet pride in his voice.  
  
“She’s fine--waiting for you. She’s a good girl, Captain.”  
  
Several officers moved at once to go to the house. Starsky  
called out for them to stop. His voice once again surprisingly strong.  
  
“No, wait! Cap, she’ll only come out for you. Only for her  
daddy. Please, she promised me, let her keep it. She did so good.”  
  
Dobey’s emotions threatened to overcome him as he  
listened to the man before him. Dave Starsky had been through hell. Stabbed, cut, mutilated, beaten. All for his little girl. And still wanting to give Rosie one more thing, the gift of making all of them proud, keeping her word to Starsky,  
being brave. Dobey patted the hand he had been holding. _How can I ever  
repay you, Starsky?  
  
_ “All right, Dave. I’ll get her.” Dobey placed one hand along  
Starsky’s face, whispering the only words he could. “Thank you.”  
  
Dobey ran to his house, shadowed by Reynolds and a paramedic. Starsky  
followed his captain with his eyes, turning his head toward  
the house, reaching for Hutch. Ignoring the paramedics crouching down  
at his side.  
  
“Hutch, I need to see, help me, please. Need to see Rosie’s  
okay.”  
  
The paramedics were nearly frantic to get at their patient,  
worry and then exasperation clouding their faces as Starsky found the  
strength to push away their hands, refusing their help. Hutch took him into his arms, sitting him up so he could see into Dobey’s foyer, hoping against hope  
that maybe, just maybe, Starsky’s injuries were not as bad as they looked.  
_Where’s all this energy coming from, huh, babe? You’re so torn and broken,  
Starsk, anyone else would be out, you have to let us help you now, rest against  
me, just for a minute._ Starsky leaned into Hutch’s body, held tight,  
watched his captain, and waited to see Rosie.  
  
Dobey stopped short at the sight of Starsky’s blood  
spattered on the paneling and pooled on the floor. The shaky outline of his  
body traced in red giving testament to his suffering. _Dear God, thank you for  
him. _ Dobey knocked on the hidden door, calling softly for his daughter to  
come out. And Rosie was there, jumping into her father’s arms. Dobey  
laughing with relief, twirling his child in the air, dropping to his knees and sobbing with joy.  
  
Satisfied Rosie was safe, Starsky slumped back in Hutch’s  
arms, his strength ebbing away quickly, struggling to breathe now, damage and  
fatigue winning the battle.  
  
“She’s safe now, Hutch, she did it.” Pain took control for a  
moment and Starsky moaned low in his throat, clenching at Hutch’s  
hands. “Hutch? Hutch don’t let her see me, okay?” Starsky’s head fell against his partner’s chest, his words whispered against the warmth of Hutch’s  
shirt. Hutch held Starsky close, wonder and awe at what  
Starsky had just accomplished holding his heart.  
  
“Starsk? You held on just for Rosie, didn’t you, pal? Hold on  
for me now, okay? Please, Starsk, hold on.”  
  
Starsky was finally out and the paramedics took him from  
Hutch, laying him flat, finding the many sources of his bleeding, compressing  
the worst of his wounds. Hutch was lost, rising to his feet in a daze.  
Separated from Starsky, the enormity of the day crashing down and threatening to suffocate him. Mac was there by his side, urging him back  
down to stay near Starsky.  
  
“I’ve got it, Hutch, you stay with Starsky...he may need you.  
Hey, fellas, fall in here. Line up, Captain Dobey is bringing his daughter  
out.”

Dobey carried his little girl past the impromptu honor guard,  
Rosie so tiny in her father’s arms. Soft applause and quiet calls of  
encouragement helped to hide the medical communications taking place behind the row of officers. Rosie shyly buried her face against her father, safe.  
Hutch stayed huddled at Starsky’s head as the paramedics  
found and announced horror after horror, protecting Starsky  
as Starsky had protected Rosie. _Don’t listen, buddy, I’ve got  
you now, everything will be okay, I promise you, Starsk, just  
hold on a little longer._ Soothing each groan, there for every  
brief moment Starsky’s eyes opened, his reassurances as  
constant as their love.Captain Dobey reached for his wife, holding their child  
between them, prayers of thanks offered, prayers for Starsky following immediately.  
  
“Harold...”  
  
“Edith...”  
  
“I know, dear. Rosie and I will see you at the hotel, I’m sure  
she’ll sleep. You go with David, he and Hutch need you now. Take care  
of them, Harold.”  
  
It was Starsky’s fellow officers who carried his stretcher to  
the waiting ambulance, carefully passing him down the tiered lawn, each  
one taking his turn, all feeling privileged to do so. Hutch led the way, never  
letting go.  
  
The ER staff was waiting along with a group of reporters and  
television cameras. The black and white carrying Dobey pulled in right  
behind the ambulance, Dobey and his officers making quick work of pushing back spectators and reporters. Starsky was whisked inside, doors  
closed firmly behind his small entourage, tight security set in place.  
  
“Captain Dobey! A statement, please, can you tell us what  
happened? Who’s the injured officer? What happened to him? Is Duncan Oliver  
still alive? What happened at your house?”  
  
The barrage of questions and demands jumbled into one  
until Dobey heard,  
  
“What color is the injured officer?”  
  
Dobey stopped in his tracks, turning back slowly to face the  
group.  
  
“What did you say? Did you just ask me what ‘color’ my  
officer is? What the hell kind of a question is that supposed to be?”  
  
Dobey was as dumbfounded as he was angry. The reporters  
and news crews stood in nervous silence as they awaited  
more of his reply. Dobey looked back to the doors Starsky  
had just been taken through to find Hutch watching him;  
blue eyes filled both with sorrow and worry for Starsky and  
anticipation of Dobey’s words. Because Hutch already knew  
that Dobey’s statement would hold no surprises for him, only  
comfort and confirmation of the kind of man his best friend  
and partner was.  
  
“The officer now being cared for in the ER...his name is  
David Starsky. Detective Sergeant First Class. You want to know what color  
he is? Today he’s pretty much black and blue, covered over in red, blood  
red. He’s those colors today because he was willing to sacrifice his life to  
save my little girl. If you asked David Starsky what color my child is, or his  
partner, or any of you, he’d look at you like you were crazy. Because to  
David Starsky, it simply doesn’t matter. It makes no difference to me what  
‘color’ he is, or to him what ‘color’ I am, and it sure as hell shouldn’t matter  
to anyone else. He’s a cop. One of the best I have, a damn good man.  
Now, please excuse me, I’m going inside to be with  
Detective Starsky’s partner.”  
  
Hutch and Dobey sat in the all too familiar ER waiting room,  
both men quiet and thoughtful, hoping and praying for good news. “He’s  
holding on, the doctor will be out soon, sorry, no word yet”...the usual litany from hurried nurses taking up tiny pieces of time from their long wait. Six long  
hours crawled by before the doctor came, his tired face closed off, not  
readable to the two anxious men searching it. His voice though, when he spoke, was filled with compassion and caring.  
  
“Please, gentlemen, sit back down. First let me say, Officer  
Starsky will be fine. He’s pretty torn up, inside and out, lots of severe  
bruising, contusions, and a few broken ribs. The stab wound  
to his abdomen caused the most trouble, we had to...well,  
let’s just say we cleaned him up and put him back together.  
The knife wound to his neck was just short of fatal--just  
missed an artery--still, easier to repair than his abdomen. His  
forehead has been stitched closed and he has dozens of  
stitches elsewhere on his face and upper body. His hands  
are recovering nicely, I don’t see any long term problems.”  
  
The doctor stopped speaking for a moment. He had covered  
the most pertinent physical damage. Relief and joy radiated from Detective  
Starsky’s friends, but there was one more hurdle for all of them. His entire staff  
had struggled to keep themselves emotionally detached from the word cut  
into Starsky’s body. He was the one who had broken down at the sight of  
the letters carved into the detective’s chest, he who had ranted at the cruelty of  
one human being against another, he who demanded the hospital’s best plastic surgeon be summoned.  
  
“I took the liberty of having Officer Starsky treated by a fine  
plastic surgeon. The...damage from the letters cut into his chest has  
been nearly obliterated. With time, and once the wounds  
have completely healed, there will be very little evidence of  
the trauma inflicted. I can’t begin to tell you how badly we all  
felt when we saw those wounds.”  
  
The three men sat for a moment in companionable silence.  
Some of the day’s weight had been lifted and replaced by gratitude. Starsky had survived. The doctor broke the silence.  
  
“Officer Starsky managed a few words when he came to. He  
asked for both of you. He should be settled in the ICU by now. If you’d like, I  
can take you to him.”  
  
Starsky was asleep, heavy bandages covering his neck and  
head wounds, his chest and wrists wrapped in gauze, the damage to his belly  
covered by blankets. Hutch was grateful to see his partner was  
breathing on his own, a heart monitor but no tubes, a lone IV feeding into his arm. _You did good, buddy_. Reaching over the bed rails, he gathered Starsky’s  
hand into his own, relishing its return to more normal size and coloring, relieved when he felt Starsky’s weak squeeze.

“Hey, love, gonna wake up for me and say hello? Starsk?”  
  
Starsky stirred, his eyes fluttering, fighting to open and stay  
that way.  
  
“Hutch...hey.”  
  
“Hey yourself. You doin’ okay? You did real good today,  
Starsk. Lots of people are really proud of you.”  
  
“Nothin’...Hutch? Rosie is okay...I saw her, didn’t I?”  
  
Hutch smiled back the tears that filled his eyes. _Nothing, he  
thinks it was nothing. Damn Oliver shreds him and breaks him, and he  
says it’s nothing. Only you, babe, only you_.

“Yeah, Starsk, Rosie is just fine, you saw her, stuck around  
just for that. Captain is here, Starsk, he wants to see you, too, okay?”  
  
Hutch turned over the hand he was holding to Captain  
Dobey.  
  
“Starsky,” Dobey’s voice wavered as he struggled to find the  
words he wanted to say. “I...I want you to know that what you did today, for  
Rosie, for her family...there are no words...” Dobey stopped trying, resting  
his eyes on Starsky’s. Tears coursing down his face said what he  
couldn’t.  
  
“Cap, don’t…” A yawn followed by a pain filled grimace  
interrupted Starsky’s words. He grew decidedly more sleepy,  
his eyes losing their battle to stay open.  
  
“Rest now, Starsky, Edith and I will be back later to see you.  
Thank you, David.” Dobey closed his own eyes for a brief prayer of  
thanks before turning Starsky’s hand back over to Hutch, who settled himself at  
Starsky’s bedside. “Stay with him, Hutch, if either of you need anything...”  
  
“I know, Cap, I know. You go see your little girl; I’ll take care  
of Starsky. ‘Nite, Captain.”  
  
Dobey headed on his way, a soft call from a very tired  
Starsky stopping him.  
  
“Hey, Cap’n...this mean I can marry her when she grows  
up?”  
  
Dobey turned on his heel to answer. Hutch was laughing  
softly, holding Starsky’s hand, gesturing with the other for their captain to  
be quiet. Starsky was fast asleep, a small smile gracing his  
battered face. Hutch kissed that smile and settled in the  
chair by the bed. Morning would break, soon. There would  
be reports to file, evidence to sort out, statements to take.  
But for now, he was where he belonged. Oliver was gone,  
Rosie safe, and Starsky would live. And be his.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
  
Starsky groaned, shifting his body from side to back, settling  
his right calf over Hutch’s left shin, finding his lover’s hand  
and holding it.

“Hey, Hutch? You awake?”

“Mmm…You okay, Starsk?”  
  
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep, thinking about Rosie. Cap says she’s  
still having a real hard time even with all the counseling he  
and Edith arranged for her.” Starsky pulled Hutch’s leg a bit  
closer with his own, scooting his rump over so that their hips  
pressed tight. “Says she’s still afraid to see me.”  
  
“I don’t know if afraid is the right word, buddy. I don’t think  
she’s afraid to see you, maybe just afraid to re-visit all that  
happened. She’s only a little girl, babe.”  
  
“Yeah. I miss her, you know?” Starsky turned back on his  
side, his leg over both of Hutch’s, idly caressing Hutch’s  
chest. “Been almost two months.”  
  
“Not that long a time, Starsk. You haven’t even finished  
healing yet.”  
  
Starsky yawned and somewhere in it Hutch heard his  
agreement. Pulling him as close as he could, Hutch  
whispered to go to sleep. Morning was soon enough to talk.  
Time heals, love--Rosie will come back to you.  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
“Cap? I need…”  
  
Starsky pulled up short. Standing in her father’s office beside  
the bookcase was Rosie Dobey. A quick glance at Starsky,  
and she was off to the window, her slender little back turned  
on Starsky and her father. It didn’t take long for the tears to  
start, for the little shoulders to start to shake. Starsky stood  
in miserable silence, eyes begging his captain for help, not  
knowing what the hell to do. Dobey settled the matter for  
him. Left the room, giving Starsky a nudge toward his  
daughter on the way out.  
  
“Rosie…sweetheart?” Crouched down beside the little girl,  
Starsky ran a finger along her arm and asked again,  
“Rosie?” She was in his arms with his next heartbeat.  
Starsky sank to the floor and held on tight, waiting as Rosie’s  
sobs wound down to sniffles.

“Okay now, sweetheart?”  
  
Rosie’s little face stayed pressed to Starsky’s chest, but she  
nodded her head, her hands twisting in her lap.  
  
“Rosie, it’s all over now. You’re safe, you know that, don’t  
you?” Another nod. “And I’m fine, Rosie…”  
  
“But you got hurt! I heard it, I heard you cry and ask for  
Uncle Hutch. You got hurt because of me…”  
  
“Whoa there, young lady. I want you to listen to me. I got  
hurt because of some bad guys. You didn’t hurt me and I  
didn’t get hurt because of you.”  
  
Rosie wasn’t buying it. “Yes, you did! If I hadn’t been there, it  
wouldn’t have happened. It happened because I’m a  
different color. It’s my fault.” Rosie was crying again, deep  
hard sobs that twisted at Starsky’s heart.  
  
“Rosie…Rosie come here, come with me, baby.”  
  
Starsky settled himself in Dobey’s desk chair, pulling the little  
girl on to his lap, giving her time to get herself under control.  
Thinking to himself that he had to do that, too.  
  
“Rosie, do you know what I see when I look at you?”  
  
Rosie didn’t answer, but she looked up at him, wanting to  
hear.  
  
“I see you, Rosie Dobey, my favorite girl in the whole, wide  
world.”  
  
Rosie considered this, searching Starsky’s face for more.  
“That’s all?”  
  
“That’s everything, Rosie.”  
  
Rosie cuddled closer, her small hands drifting along  
Starsky’s arms.  
  
“Uncle Starsky?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Why do some people say mean things about my daddy and  
me?”  
  
“The world is full of all kinds of people, honey, not all of them  
are going to be smart enough to know they’re being mean.  
You just have to learn to ignore that. And know that Uncle  
Hutch and I, and your family, and all of your friends love you  
and won’t let anyone hurt you. You can always come to us,  
sweetheart. Okay?”  
  
Rosie’s voice was tiny when she answered okay in return.  
Starsky held Rosie fast to his chest, not wanting to ever let  
her go out into the world. Knowing there would still be times  
when she would be scared, when her feelings would be hurt,  
and he silently cursed the bigots in their world. What Rosie  
might face because her skin was a different color was  
wrong, what he and Hutch faced because of their love for  
each other was wrong. He knew Rosie would learn as she  
grew. She would learn of ‘skin-heads’ and the KKK and  
Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King. She would learn of his  
own family’s history of concentration camps, hear remarks  
made about Jews. She would learn about gays and the  
myriad of biased opinions about them. And somewhere  
along the line Rosie would form her own opinions; someday  
she would mold and teach her own children. It occurred to  
Starsky how lucky he was to participate in Rosie’s future.  
  
“Rosie, how about we find Uncle Hutch and go out for  
breakfast?”  
  
Rosie sat up straighter, not quite letting go, but almost.  
Starsky held back a laugh when she helped herself to his  
shirtsleeve in lieu of a tissue.  
  
“Can we have pancakes?”  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
“Green?”  
  
Starsky tickled her nose. “Don’t know if the Pancake House  
is up for that, Rosie.”  
  
“Guess they have a lot to learn, don’t they Uncle Starsky?  
Just ‘cause they’re green doesn’t make them icky.”  
  
Rosie was off his lap and out the door looking for Hutch.  
Starsky stared after her, the first true smile in the last two  
months gracing his face. Rosie understood, it was plain as  
day. His smile grew to a grin as he caught up with her, taking  
her hand and calling for his partner.  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
_Hutch! Oh, God…  
_  
Starsky’s own voice woke him from the latest terror that had  
come to haunt him in his sleep. It’s been four months…why  
now? Not wanting to wake Hutch, he turned on his side, one  
hand involuntarily tracing the few faint scars that ran down  
the length of his chest. Plastic surgery had done a  
remarkable job erasing the obscenity carved into his skin,  
but Starsky still saw it clearly. Nigger. A vile message to his  
captain delivered via Starsky’s battered body. Shivers  
crawled over him, memories of Duncan Oliver fresh in the  
middle of this night. Forcing his mind elsewhere, Starsky  
curled his back against solid warmth of Hutch, taking comfort  
from the contact. Sleep drifted back and took him, holding  
him as the night passed.  
  
Dawn was just beginning to break as Hutch rolled over, not  
fully awake, searching for his lover’s body. His hand found  
the silk of Starsky’s shoulder, his sleep stolen away by  
Starsky’s scream.  
  
“Starsk! Starsky, what the hell?”  
  
Starsky didn’t answer--out of their bed and staring out at the  
fading night through the bedroom window. Hutch watched for  
a moment, seeing the trembles, seeing Starsky wrap his  
arms around his upper body. Out of their bed himself the  
second he saw Starsky’s body start to fold. Holding him tight  
on the floor of their bedroom.  
  
“Starsk, you okay, buddy? Can you tell me?”  
  
Starsky’s hands found Hutch’s, pulled his hold even tighter,  
pressing his back to Hutch’s chest, grateful for the weight of  
Hutch’s legs wrapping around his own. His voice was  
someplace between a whisper and silence when he spoke.  
  
“I thought it was over, Hutch. Gone like the letters that  
bastard carved into my chest. Four months, Hutch, it’s back  
after four fuckin’ months.”  
  
Hutch started to speak, to question, silenced by the face that  
turned to him. Starsky’s face twisted by anguish and  
memories he hated.  
  
“I feel it in my dreams. Every letter, every slice of that knife  
over and over again. And I don’t know why…now…I thought  
it was over…”  
  
“Starsk, hey, when did this start? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“Didn’t want to tell you, Hutch. You knowin’ makes it real.”  
Starsky pressed close. Hutch’s arms tighter in response. “I  
want to forget, but…I can’t. It’s just… Something is gonna  
happen.” Starsky gave the slightest of smiles. “I’ve got a  
feeling.” The smile vanished. “I’m scared.”  
  
Hutch worked a hand free, petted at Starsky’s chest, rubbed  
his shoulder and thumbed his jaw line. “Share with me?”  
Hutch barely felt the nod of his head, Starsky’s body shaking  
hard in his arms.  
  
“Hutch…he…oh, damn.”  
  
It took a minute or two, a few more false starts and  
swallowed words before Starsky could speak. Hutch was  
almost sorry he had asked.  
  
“He wasn’t dead, Hutch. I swear I could have reached out  
and touched him, but I wasn’t really there, just watching it all  
like something on television. He grabbed Rosie from her bus  
stop, right after Dobey dropped her off and kissed her  
goodbye. Next thing I knew, I was watching you and me  
going to work and then Dobey was calling me into his office.  
Just me, babe, he wouldn’t let you come in. Dobey looked  
like hell, shaking and sweating…he looked damn terrified.  
Told me what I already knew, that Rosie had been taken. He  
told me Duncan Oliver’s fuckin’ ghost had her and wouldn’t  
give her back unless…”  
  
Starsky’s body pressed back even harder, his hands so tight  
on Hutch’s forearms that they threatened pain. Hutch waited,  
letting Starsky work out the words on his own, his own mind  
in a dozen places at once imagining what his lover was  
about to tell him. Sickened at what he heard.  
  
“He told Dobey he had to kill me. Shoot me, and when the  
paramedics declared me dead he’d return Rosie. If I said no,  
he’d kill her. Gave us two days to think about it.”  
  
“What did…you told him your mind was already made up,  
didn’t you?” Hutch already knew the answer could only be  
one thing.  
  
Starsky’s head nodded against Hutch’s neck, his hands  
squeezing hard again, telling Hutch there was more. More  
that hurt.  
  
“I didn’t want to leave you, Hutch. That was the hardest thing  
for me. I couldn’t tell you, Dobey made me promise. I  
couldn’t even say goodbye, tell you how much I love you.”  
Starsky’s voice broke, and Hutch turned him in his arms,  
holding Starsky’s head to his chest, working a leg under  
Starsky’s, cradling him against his body, wanting to see the  
face Starsky was working so hard to hide from him.  
  
“Tell me what happened, Starsk. Tell me and let it go.”  
  
“Hutch, you don’t…”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“Dobey and I…I laid down on the little couch he just had put  
in his office—you know, the one he’s always telling me to  
stay the hell away from. I asked him to shoot me through my  
heart because I didn’t want you and Ma to have to deal  
with…” Starsky gulped hard, Hutch even harder, both  
struggling to keep control. “Cap was begging for God and  
crying and shaking so hard I had to help him hold the gun.  
Damn near had to pull the trigger for him. Just  
before…before he did it, he asked me to forgive him. Told  
him there was nothing to forgive. And then he shot me.”  
  
Starsky turned in Hutch’s arms and looked at him. Hutch  
saw the fear of something that seemed so real fighting the  
logic that said it never really happened. Starsky was tired  
and confused and scared. Hutch wanted to take all that from  
him--wanted more for the dream to not have happened.  
  
“It hurt, Hutch, I didn’t know dreams could hurt so much.  
They’re not supposed to be so damn real.” Starsky took  
Hutch’s hand and pressed it over his heart. “This is where  
the bullet went in.”  
  
Hutch found he couldn’t look at Starsky’s face anymore. It  
was all too much, too real. He could see it all happen, hear  
the gun shot, hear Dobey cry, see Starsky die. Starsky’s  
nightmare was his own; Duncan Oliver brought back to life  
for them both. He buried his face in Starsky’s hair, trying to  
get himself under control, trying to hide. Starsky gave him a  
moment then gently pulled away, needing to see Hutch’s  
face again, needing Hutch to look at him.  
  
“Hutch? I didn’t die. You came in when you heard the  
shot…did all the stuff you do when I’m hurt. Dobey just sat  
against the wall staring off into space. You asked him what  
the hell happened and he couldn’t answer you and you got  
pissed. You grabbed the gun from the floor and turned to  
him, and that’s when I always wake up. I don’t know what  
happens after that, but thinking about it scares me.”  
  
“Starsk…you know I wouldn’t hurt Dobey, dream or no  
dream.”  
  
“Yeah, but…shit, Hutch, I just wish I understood why I’ve  
been having this dream. Rosie is doing great, Dobey is back  
to chewing my ass out, Oliver’s goons are all locked up or  
dead. Like I said, I just have this feeling something is going  
to happen.”  
  
“Babe, Oliver is dead. You know he can’t hurt any of us.”  
  
Starsky nodded his agreement, settling back against Hutch,  
weariness making him feel heavy limbed and groggy. Hutch  
held him and kissed him, squeezing gently where Starsky  
had placed his hand over his heart, wanting to give his lover  
something real to feel. Something familiar and good.  
  
“Come on, partner. Back to bed. We can get a few more  
hours of sleep before it’s really time to get up. We’ll talk  
more tomorrow--try and figure this out then.”  
  
Starsky allowed Hutch to pull him to his feet, as grateful as  
ever for his solid strength. Steered back to bed, settled  
under the blankets with Hutch’s arms around him, Starsky  
fell back to sleep quickly. Hutch stared at the window,  
watching as gray went to pink and pink went to a sunny  
morning. Duncan Oliver never leaving his mind.  
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
Late Monday morning traffic was light, the day beautiful, and  
Hutch took advantage to launch into one of his spiels about  
fresh air and paying homage to the seasons. Starsky  
indulged him, feeling pleasure at the ordinariness of the  
moment, poking some fun at his partner when he twisted  
Hutch’s words into concern for the Torino’s engine. Swinging  
the heavy car around a corner, he pulled in front of Parker  
Center and killed the engine--making no move to get out,  
staring out over the steering wheel.  
  
Starsky’s nightmares had been discussed over morning  
coffee. Picked apart, analyzed, and hopefully banished.  
Hutch had pulled his lover into the shower, kissing his way  
down Starsky’s chest, every faint scar getting the same  
attention as unmarred skin and dark nipples, reassuring  
Starsky his body was desirable and sexy and belonged to  
Hutch. Not a message board, not vulgar, but alive and  
vibrant, and, Hutch whispered just before he took Starsky in  
his mouth, always would be.  
  
“Starsk?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
Starsky turned to Hutch, his blue eyes questioning, his lips a  
gentle smile, and Hutch felt the desire to hold his lover  
course warmly through his body. A nearby black and white  
hitting the siren reminded him where they were. “You ready,  
or do you plan on sitting here all day?”  
  
“Sorry, babe…just thinking about this morning.”  
  
Starsky let Hutch think he was referring to the love making,  
gladly accepting his promise for more loving that night. Out  
of the car and halfway up the steps before something  
stopped him, something he couldn’t put a finger on.  
_Something’s gonna happen, I have a feeling._ Dobey was  
visible through one of the large windows that graced the  
front of the building. Staring out at him and Hutch. A young  
officer came down the steps toward them, red-faced and in a  
hurry. Starsky just catching a glimpse of a shiny new  
nametag reading ‘Andrews’ or ‘Anderson’ or something  
similar as the young officer passed. Starsky watched him,  
rooted to the step he stood on. The officer got into a waiting  
squad car, slammed the car door hard, and was gone--the  
moment passing physically but still in Starsky’s mind.  
  
“Starsky! Come on, partner, didn’t you see Dobey? Looks  
like he’s waiting for us.”  
  
Starsky caught up to Hutch, entering the building together,  
going to meet their captain. Dobey was angry about  
something, no doubt about that. Motioning his officers to the  
elevator, he waved off another cop wanting to enter, hitting  
first the close door button and then number nine.  
  
“You okay, Cap’n?” Starsky broke the uneasy silence  
halfway to the ninth floor.  
  
“Fine, Starsky. I want to see you in my office.”  
  
Hutch wondered if he was as pale as Starsky had just  
turned. Dobey must have wondered, too.  
  
“You two all right?”  
  
Hutch answered. “Fine, Captain. You did want to see both of  
us.” Hutch wasn’t asking a question.  
  
“Of course both of you! You’re partners, aren’t you? What  
the hell is it with everybody this morning?”  
  
Dobey led the way into his office, standing aside to close the  
door after his officers. Starsky and Hutch stood in place until  
Dobey barked at them to sit down and get over whatever  
was bugging them. Starsky sat, pulling Hutch down next to  
him, grinning at him, so relieved he could hardly stand it.  
Dobey saw and muttered some concern about what the two  
of them had done now before he got to the point.  
  
“We have a group of rookies coming in starting this morning.  
That blond kid coming down the stairs toward you just now is  
one of them.”  
  
“He what has you in such a good mood this morning, Cap?”  
Starsky just couldn’t resist.  
  
“No, Starsky. He’s not and neither are the two of you.”  
Dobey glared long enough to make Starsky squirm before he  
continued. “The Chief wants every rookie paired with a  
senior team starting now, and I don’t have enough men to  
go around.”  
  
Hutch started to protest, knowing where Dobey was going  
and not liking it a bit.  
  
“That kid you saw wanted to ride with you two. I refused and  
the little shit went right to the Chief. I’ve been arguing with  
him for the last hour. I think I’ve won for now, but don’t be  
surprised if you end up with him.” Dobey quit, but there was  
more. “It might not be a bad idea…the kid’s got some  
problems with respect.”  
  
Starsky wanted to ask respect for what, but he already knew.  
So did Hutch  
  
“Anytime, Captain, just let us know.” Starsky smiled at  
Dobey, the smile of a friend, knowing and caring. Dobey  
smiled back and then ordered his men to get to work,  
reminding them of an appointment early in the afternoon with  
the District Attorney.  
  
Starsky breezed through the squad room, out the door, and  
into the hallway before Hutch caught up with him.  
  
“Starsk, where the hell are you going? We have work to do.”  
  
“Not until after lunch, buddy, you heard Dobey.”  
  
“That didn’t mean we have the morning off.”  
  
Starsky was through the exit door at the end of the corridor  
and starting down the steps. “Hutch, would you hurry up.”  
  
Hutch saw the top of Starsky’s head a flight of steps down.  
Swearing under his breath he followed, managing to catch  
up with Starsky on the ground floor.  
  
Starsky grinned and grabbed Hutch’s arm, pulling him  
outside and toward the Torino. Hutch dug his heels in,  
stopping them both.  
  
“Where are we going?”  
  
“Jackson’s.” Starsky answered like Hutch should have  
known that all along.  
  
“Jackson Walters’?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Starsky.” For the life of him, Hutch didn’t know what to add.  
  
“Hutch.” Starsky did. “Listen, we have plenty of time for a  
quick game of pick-up with Jackson and Junior. And Mrs.  
Walters is baking pies this morning.”  
  
Hutch still didn’t look convinced.  
  
“And I want you to meet someone.” Starsky flashed a grin.  
“Her name is Sammie.”  
  
That did it, just as Starsky knew it would. The DA and  
Andrews/Anderson could wait. Basketball and pie were  
waiting.  
  
  



End file.
